


The Faults of Men

by inoubliable



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Drinking, Established Relationship, Holidays, M/M, Short & Sweet, St. Patrick's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 00:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14008119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoubliable/pseuds/inoubliable
Summary: Eddie hates St. Patrick's Day, but he loves Richie.





	The Faults of Men

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by an Irish drinking song a woman taught me in a bar today:  
> 
> 
> _"Here's to all the men I've loved  
>  and here's to the ones I've kissed.  
> The only regret that I can say  
> is to all the ones I've missed.  
> Though women's faults are many,  
> men have only two:  
> every single thing they say,  
> and every thing they do."_

Eddie looks miserable.

He knows this because his friends have told him so. Twice.

Ben looks like he's gearing up for a third, so Eddie tries to sit up like he's paying attention, but his elbows lands in something sticky on the bar counter and he ends up grimacing instead, slouching down again.

The bar is loud. Bars are always loud, but it's different, now, with the jaunty, boisterous Irish-punk crashing over the din of a hundred different conversations. Part of Eddie's brain thinks that the band is Flogging Molly, maybe, or the Dead Kennedys, both of which Eddie only knows from the collection of CDs Richie keeps haphazardly stuffed under the front seat of his car. The crush of people crowded into every corner certainly don't help things, all of them talking and laughing and jostling against one another. Eddie tried holding his beer for the first thirty minutes but gave up after too many people had pushed into his shoulder and arm, spilling most of it on the dirty, tacky floor.

That's another thing: Eddie hates beer. He'd be more than happy to stick to a whiskey sour - or, better yet, soda - but Richie had insisted. The beer is dyed green for the holiday and when Richie had noticed he had lost his _mind_ , insisting on buying them all a round because they just _had to_ , it was _tradition_. Eddie had tried to explain that Richie didn't have any reason to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day considering he's not even Irish, but Richie had just pointed at the 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish!' button he had pinned to his jacket and ordered seven green beers.

And, really, that's the crux of the issue: Richie is nowhere to be seen.

He disappeared about five minutes ago to find the bathroom. In a bar crammed full of this many people, Eddie isn't surprised he hasn't returned yet, but he's still bitter about it. Richie is the only reason he's even here, and he has the audacity to disappear?

So, yeah. Eddie looks pretty damn miserable.

"You're going to get wrinkles, frowning like that," Stan tells him. Even he looks happier than Eddie does, sipping his water, eyes crinkled up at the corners like he's considering a smile. He doesn't drink much - he hates being out of control, something that Richie teases him for religiously, not that Stan listens to him. The only one who really gives Richie undivided attention is Eddie, and isn't that just the whole fucking problem.

"I'm not frowning," Eddie insists, even though he is. "I'm thinking."

"Thinking about killing someone?" Bev chimes in brightly. She's on her third drink of the night, something dark and strong-smelling. She and Richie drained their beers as soon as they received them, followed closely by Bill and Mike. Ben finished not long after. Most of Eddie's beer is on the floor, but he still hasn't managed to finish it off.

"Someone t-tall, dark, and huh-handsome?" Bill adds. He's had the most to drink and while Bill is the best at a lot of things, his tolerance is laughably low. He's leaning heavily against Ben, and his eyes are half-lidded, and he's calling Richie _handsome_ which, while true, is pretty out of character.

"I'm telling Richie you called him handsome," Eddie says, a poor attempt at diverting the attention from himself.

Bill does not look at all concerned, but he manages to peel himself off of Ben so he can lean against Eddie instead. He's a lot taller than Eddie and just as heavy, and he almost knocks them both off the bar stool. "Don't w-worry," he says, "I'm not gonna stuh-steal your m-man, Eds," and his breath stinks like stale beer and the weird Guinness cheese dip he's been sharing with Mike.

Another thing: Eddie hates drunk people. He doesn't hate Bill, not one bit, but he spares one special second to resent him, just a little, for being just one more reason why Eddie's night sucks.

And then, as if some higher power has realized that Eddie is nearing the end of both his patience and his sanity, the crowd suddenly parts and spits out Richie Tozier. His face is a little red and his eyes are kind of dark and his hair is a fucking mess. He's so stupidly handsome and Eddie is so stupidly charmed, swaying into Richie's space as he steps in close.

"Hi, sweetheart," Richie says, and tilts Eddie's face up for a kiss. Eddie stares up at him when they part, like he can't look away. He doesn't _want_ to look away. "Miss me?" Richie asks, and Eddie huffs but doesn't say no.

"Yes, he did," Bev says, the bitch.

"He was pouting," Stan says, the snitch.

"He hasn't t-touched his beer," Bill says, the traitor. Eddie would kick him in the shin if he weren't half-afraid it would knock them both off balance.

Richie looks at Eddie's beer, then back at Eddie. "That's alright," he says. He hasn't taken his hand off Eddie's face. Eddie turns his head and kisses Richie's palm and Richie's eyes go impossibly soft.

And yeah, Eddie hates this. He hates bars, and crowds, and the stench of whiskey and sweat. He hates loud music and sticky counters and the way he can practically feel himself getting sick, breathing in the germs of a hundred strangers. He hates that there are maybe a handful of people in the place who even know why there is a whole day dedicated to Saint Patrick.

He fucking hates the color green.

But, damn it, he really, really loves Richie Tozier.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all had a great holiday! I'll be posting something with actual substance very soon, but until then, I hope you enjoyed this silly thing.


End file.
